


One Devotes Oneself Wholeheartedly

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crying, First Time, Kink Meme, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1931406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is this one of those collusions between a corporation and the medical community? Are you being paid by the Sex Council to endorse their product?”</p><p>(Hannibal just wants to show Will a good time. Will is a sassy little muffin about it, but ends up crying anyway.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Devotes Oneself Wholeheartedly

This is a fill for [a prompt on the kinkmeme](http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/2676.html?thread=4702324#cmt4702324): “Will has always preferred sex toys to the real thing. It's not that he doesn't like sex, it's just that all a penis can do is throb and thrust while a vibrator can vibrate, twirl, thrust, throb, and more, if one gets the right one. Somehow, Hannibal finds this out. He's determined to be the one person that Will prefers to a toy.”

 

 *****

 

 

Will’s eye contact had not improved in the weeks since he and Hannibal had begun their “conversations.” He would look at Hannibal’s hands, or at his notebook if it lay on the glass table next his chair. If he was ever able to fix his gaze for any length of time, it was at the space over Hannibal’s right shoulder, at the bronze stag near the door.

The inability to make eye contact was a trait that Hannibal frequently had to contend with; he had learned to not let it distract him, to just carry on speaking and listening.

“You believe it is your duty to do what Jack tells you,” he said, looking directly at Will’s eyes just in case Will decided to look back, “not because of Jack’s authority, but because you are saving lives. And yet having done this, having given performance after exceptional performance, you do not feel fulfilled. What you do may make the world a better place, but what about your own life, and what you take from the world? Does that not also matter?”

Will performed his social discomfort a little differently than Hannibal was accustomed to: rather than project timidity, he averted his gaze like eye contact _annoyed_ him. “You know, I was only sent to you in the first place so that I could keep my job,” he said. “And yet every time I sit down with you, I feel like you’re trying to convince me that I should just chuck everything, tell Jack where he can shove it, leave the FBI, not use my gift.” Will realized, slightly too late, that he might not have made the best case for the way he lived his life, having said the word _gift_ so sneeringly, as though it had several sets of quotation marks around it.

“What I desire for you is contentment. Whatever it is you choose to do, to use your gift or not, what good is it if it does not gratify you?”

“What a coincidence, then, that you believe the best way for me to find contentment is to sit and talk to you.”

“My _belief_ ,” Hannibal countered, “is that you have deliberately taken on mundane habits, bad habits, in order to disrupt any satisfaction you might have attained by employing your more exotic qualities. It is common for people of exceptional intelligence to sabotage their own happiness, because they believe they don’t sufficiently use their talents and are therefore undeserving of it. They isolate themselves, destroy their health, all out of guilt. But contentment is not only a reward. Feeling gratified is a chemical reaction in the brain, which can invigorate and motivate one to accomplish even greater things. I think that you would have a better sense of well-being if you allowed yourself to experience more frequent releases of serotonin.”

Will didn’t understand. He only ever heard serotonin discussed in the context of pharmaceuticals. “I’m not interested in being medicated,” he said.

“I’m not suggesting an SSRI. I prescribe medication extremely sparingly, because it is my belief that many of the problems people try to solve with medication can be better solved by changing one’s environment, diet, and habits. In your case, I do not believe there is a chemical deficiency, but rather a conscious denial. And as serotonin is linked with reason and calm, when one finds oneself lacking in it, whether by choice or otherwise, one is less equipped to deal with difficult circumstances.”

“So, what? Do I drink some herbal tea?”

“Serotonin is not difficult to come by. There are many activities that stimulate its release, that are easy to make a habit of. Interacting with animals is one, which is why it is good for you to have your dogs. A proper meal also boosts serotonin levels, which of course I cannot recommend highly enough. Sex is another method.” This last sentence was uttered in a much more deliberate tone.

“Instead of medication, you’re going to try to prescribe sex?” This curt response, particularly the phrase _try to_ , enlightened Hannibal a great deal about Will’s personal life.

“There is little doubt that sexual intercourse is an effective and efficient method of stress relief, as it stimulates several positive neurotransmitters, not just serotonin but prolactin and oxytocin as well. And that is in addition to providing aerobic exercise.”

“Yeah, alright, but I get that taken care of well enough. I mean, I…masturbate.” Will lowered his voice significantly when he reached the verb. “That should count for something. Gets the heart rate up. It’s relaxing. Good for stress.”

“Only intercourse – not masturbation – lowers one’s systolic blood pressure. And sex is better for relaxation, because the body releases four times more prolactin than during masturbation.”

Will had been hoping that sex would never come into their discussions, but then again, he shouldn’t have been surprised that it had. _Everything is about sex, except for sex_ , as the saying went, and here Doctor Lecter was proving that true, talking about pursuing sex purely as a method for producing mood-elevating chemicals, as if it were that simple.

And he wasn’t finished yet, listing all the unsexy things that sex was good for: “People who are sexually active have stronger immune systems, higher levels of Immunoglobin A. Sex is also better for strengthening muscles, ones that aren’t used during masturbation.”

Will leaned back and laced his fingers together over his mid-section. “Is this one of those collusions between a corporation and the medical community? Are you being paid by the Sex Council to endorse their product?”

Hannibal allowed the corners of his mouth to form a semblance of a smile. He enjoyed Will’s flippant sense of humor. “Do you really find it that shocking that a doctor – or for that matter, anyone – thinks that sex is a good thing?”

“I’m not accusing you of lying. I’m just saying, sex is a lot of work, and a lot of trouble.”

“What sort of trouble has it given you?”

God, he was tired of shrinks and their leading questions. He felt like a fish doomed to be hooked, over and over for all eternity. “None, for a long time,” Will said, mostly to be obstinate. “That’s what’s so great.”

Hannibal responded with silence. That was an insufficient answer, so he just waited. Will was not what one would call “chatty,” but if there was a silence big enough, eventually Will would come forward to fill it, if only to keep what was hanging unspoken in the air from infiltrating him.

“It’s not like I haven’t given it a shot,” Will finally went on. “When I was in my twenties, I helped put a couple notches on other people’s bedposts. But I always left thinking that…that there hadn’t been much in it for me. I didn’t like the way that it felt. Eventually I gave up trying to make it work for me, and focused on other things.”

“A lack of sexual desire is not pathological in and of itself, but it can be a symptom of a greater problem.”

“I didn’t say I had a lack of sexual desire,” Will snapped. The moment he said this, he knew that the usually insightful Doctor Lecter had purposefully been obtuse to keep him talking. But his desire to clarify was already in motion, so he continued. “I wanted to. They were attractive people – mostly men, a couple women – and I wanted to be with them. And sometimes it was good. But then I would start thinking about something, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t get back into my body, I would be stuck in my head. And the fact that it actually had been good for a minute or two, that just made it worse in the end, because then I knew that I _could_ have a good time, that I _could_ get close to having ‘good sex,’ but I was doomed to always have the rug pulled from under me by my own brain.”

All the time that he’d been talking, Will had looked at the floor, at the ceiling, at his own hands. Now, he finally dared to look at Hannibal – not making eye contact, precisely, but focusing on a spot in the middle of his forehead, so close enough – and Hannibal’s expression clearly said _Now we’re getting somewhere_. This made Will want to not talk anymore…but it also made him want to talk a whole lot more.

“It is past the time when you and I usually say goodbye for the evening,” Hannibal said, glancing at his watch. “But as our conversations are friendly, and not bound by my policies, I was wondering if you would like to continue this discussion at my home. I have some veal kidneys that I would be cooking for myself alone, but which would please me to share with you.”

Will laughed with relief that this line of questioning was over. He clapped his hands down on his knees and said, “Only if it’s the kind of food that will boost my serotonin levels, I suppose.”

“It’s the only kind that I prepare,” Hannibal said, smiling with his eyes.

 

*****

 

Will had barely settled himself on a stool in the kitchen when Hannibal handed him a glass of wine. Not that he hesitated to take it. He was looking forward to watching Hannibal cook, and he always enjoyed a drink with his entertainment. “So what is it that you’ll be doing with veal kidneys this evening?” he asked, between sips of wine.

Hannibal said, “Tonight I’ll be preparing _Zürcher Geschnetzltes_ over _Spätzli_.”

“Gesundheit.”

Hannibal gave Will a reproving glance and continued, “It is a Swiss dish, from the Zurich region.” As he moved utensils and ingredients from the cupboards and the refrigerator, he explained further: “The dish originally incorporated only meat. Adding kidney is a recent variation. It is also typically served with _rösti_ – that is, hash browns – but I prefer _Spätzli_ , which is the Swiss term for traditional Swabian pasta.”

“I’m assuming you learned to prepare it during your stay at an elite Swiss boarding school?”

“No. My boarding school was in Paris.”

Will rolled his eyes.

Hannibal began with the pasta, combining eggs, flour, and salt in a quick, casual manner that seemed to border on haphazard, but without a drop or a fleck going astray. ““Do you remember what I was saying, about serotonin being so easy to come by? Because it _is_ so easy to come by, that means that purposefully _avoiding_ pleasure, in order to steer clear of the stresses that are sometimes an unfortunate side effect of pursuing it, requires so much effort that it can cause yet more stress.”

Will looked down into his wine glass. “Are we talking as friends now, or are we still in your office…for all intents and purposes, that is?”

“As a therapist, my job is to help my patients identify and resolve their issues. However, they must find their own truth. I can’t give it to them, but through conversation I hope to help them find it. And while not every aspect of my job as a friend mirrors my job as a therapist, I do believe that that approach – to facilitate, but not direct – also works in the context of friendly conversations.” Hannibal noticed that Will’s glass was near-empty, and happily replenished it. “I confess I am somewhat surprised by your revelation this evening. I would have thought that your empathy would have made it more likely that you would find sex satisfying…not to mention given you considerable skill yourself, as a lover.”

“Just because I can feel what other people feel doesn’t mean I’m an empty shell waiting for their desires to manifest so I can absorb them. I have needs and wants of my own. There is a whole human being inside me. There is not _room_ for someone else in my mind, to be honest. That’s why it’s painful to do what I do. It’s like…I mean I can’t know this for sure, obviously, but I imagine it’s like being pregnant. Just because a woman is capable of keeping another human being inside her body doesn’t mean it’s not exhausting and painful and dangerous.”

Hannibal dropped the dough into a pot of boiling water. He had a few minutes now, to place a pan on a second burner, into which he melted clarified butter. “For you, then, empathy is a double-edged sword. Do you believe that you are just not up to the effort of training your mind to switch off and enjoy sensual experiences? Or do you eschew companionship because you fear becoming emotionally entangled with someone who does not experience a comparable depth of feeling for you?”

“I always wanted the emotional entanglement. I wanted it very badly, because that’s what normal people had. I just didn’t want it to hurt so much.” Will scoffed at his own words as soon as he’d said them. It must have been the wine talking; he was never that schmaltzy.

“And is that still all that surrounds you now?” Hannibal asked. “ _Normal_ people, whom you wish to emulate because it hurts to be unique? Do you still despair of finding a companion who can accommodate your needs?”

Though he was just as articulate and insightful as ever, the fact that Hannibal was nonchalantly slicing thin strips of kidney as he said these things made Will feel like he wasn’t taking their conversation seriously enough. Perhaps to Doctor Lecter, he was just another neurotic with intimacy issues, but this was his life, and the choices he’d made had altered it considerably.

“Look,” Will said sharply, “I’m just going to tell you this, because I… I wasn’t lying before, but here’s the whole truth: I have some toys that I use, okay? I didn’t quit trying to have sex because I wanted to avoid trying to be happy. I just found another way to be happy. I bought this…I mean, it’s a vibrator. It’s what finally convinced me to stop trying to enjoy sex with another person. I could just use the vibrator, and it did exactly what I wanted, when I wanted, and I didn’t have to worry about, you know, is this guy gonna say something weird and put me off, or is he going to try to get started too fast and I have to tell him to slow down…and that’s such a simple thing, but I hate it, I hate having to direct someone in bed like I’m a traffic cop.”

Will buried his face in his hands, and he began to talk faster, much faster, pouring out his thoughts as quickly as they occurred to him, embarrassed but unable to stop confessing now that he had begun. “I just want things to happen perfectly and naturally, and I know that’s unreasonable, and it’s not what men are supposed to want, we’re supposed to feel the same way about sex that we feel about pizza, you know, even if it’s bad, well, you’re still having pizza. I never bought into that attitude. I mean, when I was in college I guess I did feel that way about pizza, but…” Will trailed off, and slowly looked up. He gazed into the middle distance, realizing how he had derailed his own serious revelation, and began to laugh at himself. He had to. It was a self-conscious but genuine giggle, at the silliness of his metaphor, particularly as he was recounting it to a man who had likely never stooped to the consumption of pizza, at least not ouside of some bistro in Napoli. Hannibal smiled fondly, partly so that Will would not feel odd about laughing by himself but also because he was genuinely amused by Will’s inelegant babbling. He noticed that the _Spätzli_ had risen to the surface of the boiling water, so he returned his attention to the pot, scooping the dumplings out and into a second shallow pan to sauté, while continuing to listen intently.

But Will was further distracted by Hannibal’s superhuman ability to juggle his various tasks. It might have taken a little longer to prepare the meal, if Hannibal had opted to cook the pasta first and then worry about the kidneys later, but neither of them would have minded the extra time spent in conversation. But Will never forgot that above all else, Hannibal was a big show-off.

“So,” Will finally went on, “what was the point of...oh yeah. So I bought some more toys, and that was it. I mean, they can do it all. The level of research and development that must go into engineering those things is astounding, but if you ask me they can’t pay people enough to do it, because they have made my life so much easier.”

“And yet you have failed to convince me that you ever experience true contentment. Not just in stolen moments here and there, but in the gestalt of your existence.”

Will swirled the remaining wine in his glass and sneered, “The gestalt of my…come _on_ , Doctor Lecter.”

“You think that the toys are a suitable substitute for intimacy. But it instead creates a negative sum, because any stress relief or physical activity your toys provide are cancelled out when you take into account what you are lacking, because of the way those toys allow you to evade physical closeness with another person.” As they talked, Hannibal placed the kidney strips in the pan, and the moment they were no longer pink, he removed them, and in their place tossed in shallots, then mushrooms.

“I thought you just said your job was to help me figure things out on my own,” Will said, “not hand them down to me from on high.”

“What I just did was give you some factual information. I didn’t hand you the _truth_. That is still for you to discover.” He deftly stirred the contents of the pan with one hand while adding beef broth, then wine, with the other. When he finished this, he sucked a stray drop from his thumb, and turned his attention to scraping some lemon peel with a zester while he waited for the sauce to boil.

“So what about the fact that _you’re_ not experiencing any ‘physical closeness with another person?’” Will tried to imitate Hannibal’s steadfast tone with that last phrase. “I mean, if sex is so great, how come you’d have been here alone if I hadn’t graced you with my presence?”

Having judged that the sauce was sufficiently reduced, Hannibal added the lemon zest, as well as a bit of light cream and some salt and pepper. “I’d have thought,” he said, “that you knew that doctors are notorious for not following their own advice. You’ve seen them smoking outside of hospitals.”

“I suppose,” Will smirked.

“My reasons are not so different from yours.” Hannibal added the browned kidneys back to the pan to warm. “I, also, have longed for companionship but shunned it out of necessity. But unlike you, I never felt disheartened or thwarted by this deficit. I still have hope that one day I will find someone whose unique qualities complement my own. Someone who sees me and truly knows me, but who loves me all the same.” It was some lofty talk for a guy who was pouring a lumpy brown sauce onto some lumpier pasta, but his words struck Will nonetheless.

It was only then that Will realized the table had not been set. He sometimes helped with that, while Hannibal cooked, but tonight the discussion had been so intense, it had slipped his mind. Hannibal was unconcerned. He retrieved the requisite utensils and napkins, pulled up another stool for himself, and set Will’s plate in front of him. Will did not look at the food, which was odd, because normally when someone stepped so close to give him something, he accepted it with eyes downcast, avoiding eye contact to make up for the increased physical proximity. At this moment, however, he found himself unable to keep from looking up, and fixing his attention on Hannibal’s prominent top lip. Hannibal saw this, took it for exactly what it was, and closed the remaining distance between them with a kiss.

It was a first-class kiss by anyone’s standards: assertive and enticingly humid, but neither pushy nor suffocating. There were no hands involved, no clutching at fabric or cupping of jaws. Just Hannibal’s tongue carefully splitting the seam of Will’s lips, reverent but insistent.

But the thing about the kiss that made Will’s stomach lurch, made his whole body tingle and forced a whimper from his throat, was that it felt like Hannibal _really meant it_. It was not bestowed as a courtesy because kisses were a customary preliminary to sex. Will was not involved in it merely because he happened to be present. Hannibal had been saving this kiss for him, and only him. No one else would have gotten this kiss in his stead. Hannibal’s kiss told Will, _I just want to let you know that I am here to consume you…when you are ready, of course_.

Hannibal released Will’s mouth but did not withdraw. Will licked his lips, just to get one final taste of him, and then said, slowly, “So, you cook, you play the harpsichord, you talk people through their problems…and you do that.”

“One devotes oneself wholeheartedly and takes pride in a skill,” Hannibal said softly, his breath ghosting over Will’s mouth, “because one hopes to be appreciated for it.” He then drew himself to his full height and stepped back to take his seat. He indicated the food, and said, “I think for now we should concentrate on appreciating this one.”

They ate sitting there at the kitchen counter. A sudden wave of embarrassment washed over Will around his third bite, when it really sank in for him that he had revealed to Hannibal that he kept and used sex toys. What made it even worse was that everything that Hannibal had said after that seemed untouched by the knowledge of the devices he employed. It had not been necessary for Will to say anything at all about his specific masturbatory proclivities, which made him feel like an idiot, blurting out unbelievably personal information that was useful to no one.

So it was almost a redemption when Hannibal said, in the same tone as anyone would use when restarting a conversation after plates had been set down and the meal sufficiently tucked into: “So, tell me more about your toys.”

At this point, Will still had far more wine in him than food, so his long pause was mostly to remember the chronological order of his purchases.

“The first one I bought, it was just a…a pretty straightforward vibrator. I didn’t know if I’d be into it, so I went for something simple. It doesn’t have any weird attachments or anything, it’s just this, slightly curved…thing. Well, it’s got three speeds. And so, that worked out well, and I decided I’d try something a little more advanced. So the second one I got is plastic, which I guess makes the vibrations more intense? But it has a lot of different settings, too. It can like, twirl.” Will held up one finger and undulated it to demonstrate.

“And you insert these into your rectum.” Hannibal said, just before putting a forkful of kidney in his mouth.

Will choked a little on his wine, but composed himself before saying matter-of-factly, “Obviously. I don’t know where else you think I would be inserting them.”

“Just wanted to make sure I understood. I certainly don’t disapprove. Rectal stimulation is not only pleasurable, it can also be therapeutic. It’s a pity that people seem to find it shameful.”

“Yes, I’m sure the world would be a better place if everyone routinely discussed rectal stimulation over dinner.”

Hannibal’s shrugged and lifted his eyebrows, as if to agree unironically with this statement. “So you are saying that your inanimate object with the ability to ‘twirl’ surpasses any pleasures that another human being can provide.”

“No one was ever able to convince me otherwise, is what I’m saying,” Will said, skewering stray bits of pasta with his fork. The remainder of the meal was eaten in silence, though Will could feel the atmosphere of the room filling with Hannibal’s busy thoughts, unarticulated but resolute.

Hannibal cleared the dishes, all except for Will’s wine glass, which still had a sip left in it. Will finished it off, and stood up to follow Hannibal to the sink with the empty glass in his hand. Hannibal carefully laid what he’d carried into the basin, then plucked the glass from Will’s hand and added it to the stack. “These can wait until morning, I think,” he said, and pivoted so that he could take Will in his arms, draw him close and feast on his slightly-parted lips once more. It was no less intense than the first time, and barely less surprising. Will wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s neck, in case there was any doubt that he wanted Hannibal to stay in close proximity and to continue.

And Hannibal seemed happy to oblige him, placing those strong, skilled hands on Will’s rump and giving it a powerful squeeze, pulling Will yet closer, so that he could surely feel Will’s cock filling out and becoming erect, not to mention the rapid, almost panicked rise and fall of his chest, the pounding of his heart. Will wanted to let his knees buckle, just let himself be wrapped in Hannibal’s arms and cling to him and be held upright.

And then, as suddenly as Hannibal had begun, he relented, and released Will, who remained close nonetheless.

“Tell me what you felt just now,” Hannibal said. “Describe to me how your body reacted.”

Will’s mouth, which was still open slightly, closed, then opened again, before he finally seemed to find the words. “It was mostly in my stomach.” He made a lazy circling gesture over his abdomen. “I think it’s what people mean when they say they had butterflies. It felt like it just…flipped over. And then it wouldn’t settle down. I mean, you kept going, and so did the flipping.”

“Have you ever felt the butterflies before?”

“Not like that. That was…” Will shifted from one foot to the other, determined not to take his eyes off the spot just past Hannibal’s right shoulder. Hannibal regarded him fondly.

“That’s very interesting,” he said. “Will, would you like to come upstairs?”

 

*****

  

Will had never seen Hannibal’s bedroom before. The first thing he encountered, in the entry to the master suite, was a screen with a Japanese motif, the backdrop for some meticulously displayed samurai armor. Will expected, then, that the entire suite would have an Oriental theme, but when he followed Hannibal, turning to enter the bedroom proper, he saw more of the same: heavy old-world elegance with a few sleek, modern touches. He wondered what the significance of the armor was, why it was displayed here, where (presumably) so few would see it. He made a mental note to ask later; in the meantime, he was just pleased to see that this room had the fewest antlers of any room of Hannibal’s that he’d ever been in.

He was interested in every detail. He looked over the decorations on the mantelpiece, tried to memorize the contents of the table in the corner, gave each of the art objects at least a passing glance. On either side of the colossal bed were antique prints. Standing at the foot of the bed, Will examined them from a moderate distance, to determine at least whether they were Victorian era, or Regency perhaps…? Meanwhile, Hannibal desired his complete attention, but rather than demand it, he simply began untucking and unbuttoning Will’s shirt until Will realized that large, warm hands were caressing his bare skin.

Will hurried to catch up, making quick work of the buttons of Hannibal’s waistcoat, tangling his fingers in Hannibal’s tie as he tried to loosen it. Hannibal took Will’s hands in his own to slow him down. “There is no hurry,” he said, and Will’s expression indicated that this might have actually been news to him. He nodded and returned to his task, taking it easier now, like he’d been handed a wrapped gift, and had to behave like an adult and unwrap it with care, not just tear the paper off to get to what was inside. Perhaps handle it a little bit, to make an educated guess first about what he might be getting.

Neither of them were disappointed. Each revealed and examined the other with reverence, finding new morsels of flesh and fuzz and muscle to admire as each article of clothing was discarded. Never before had Will been in a situation where undressing before sex was treated as its own experience; it had always been a task to be gotten over with as quickly as possible, so as to proceed with the main event. And once Will understood this, Hannibal let him set the pace, let Will feel comfortable and not simply swept along.

When they were entirely naked, Hannibal reached out with both hands and pulled Will to him by the hips, and once he was close enough reached around and clasped his buttocks with both hands. Will responded in kind, putting his hands on Hannibal while he felt their half-hard cocks press together between their bodies. Will had obviously sensed Hannibal’s greater height and more solid frame in the past, but having him this close, feeling the hard muscle with his bare hands, was a revelation. No one of Hannibal’s age and with his taste for rich food had a body like this by accident, and a little whimper, of mixed veneration and intimidation, escaped Will’s throat.

Hannibal reached down to pull back the midnight-blue bedspread, still holding onto Will with one arm. He guided Will into the bed, keeping close to him, and when they were both lying between soft sheets and atop plush pillows, Hannibal drew Will as close as possible once more and began to kiss him again, this time expanding his territory to include Will’s throat, ears, and shoulders. His kisses were slow, but hungry. He grabbed Will’s hip, hitching it up closer to his own.

The moment Will’s erection made contact with Hannibal’s belly, his hips began rocking of their own accord. He barely realized he was even doing it, until Hannibal twisted and rolled so Will was half-pinned beneath him, and his thrusting hips were forced to still. But the heaviness, with all its warm skin-to-skin contact, was thrilling, and made him want to squirm even more, to rub up against Hannibal’s solid, electrifying form.

Hannibal kept him in place so that he could make his way slowly down Will’s body, lavishing attention across his chest, caressing him with hot breaths before mouthing at each nipple. This wasn’t anything new to Will, but what he remembered was a much speedier, perfunctory licking or suckling, and then a hasty path kissed down his stomach. The hurriedness had left Will feeling like his pleasure was a burden, given only because of the promise of reciprocation.

But Hannibal kept Will covered with the rest of his body, so he felt warm and stimulated all over, not just in those two pink points of contact on his chest. Whilst he licked and sucked, Hannibal’s hands roamed, slowly, delivering far more pleasure than Will felt he could reciprocate, though he wanted to try. It was strange, how feeling so singularly desired made him feel so desirous himself.

Hannibal’s nose and cheek caressed Will’s skin as he made his way back up to whisper in his ear: “I would like you to turn onto your belly for me now.” He reached behind his head, grabbed a pillow, and deftly positioned it under Will’s hips as he obediently turned over. The sumptuous fabric felt so good against Will’s aching cock. He wondered then if he was going to come all over Hannibal’s nice pillowcase.

Hannibal sat up and yanked the covers back, so that not an inch of fabric concealed their bodies. Will’s legs were parted, but just barely; Hannibal planted one knee between Will’s own, then reached between Will’s thighs to push them apart, then maneuvered himself behind Will, placing his knees against Will’s own and spreading them until the amount of space was more to his liking.

Will felt exposed and vulnerable, but he was so turned on, there was no room left inside him for self-consciousess. Not only did he not care that Hannibal could see _everything_ , he tipped his pelvis, just slightly, so that Hannibal could see even more. And touch it, if he so desired, which Will assumed he did. And he was not disappointed: two large hands gripped his ass, spreading him, exposing his cleft. Will clutched the pillow that he was resting his head on. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Hannibal was shifting again behind him, a dark blur in the corner of Will’s eye. By this point, Will knew better than to expect a couple of rough, passably-lubed fingers, but there was no anticipating what he did feel next. It was warm, and wet, and accompanied by puffs of hot breath against his hole.

He made several choked, flustered sounds as Hannibal licked ardently. There was no restrained enticing, no tip-of-the-tongue teasing. He used as much of his mouth as possible, giving Will’s hole wet, open-mouthed kisses. As dapper and refined a gentleman as he was, he demonstrated not a hint of shyness from this hot and sloppy activity. He grunted with pleasure, in fact, happy to be performing it, especially when he felt the tense muscle beneath his tongue alternately squeezing and relaxing.

When he retreated, to catch his breath, it was with reluctance, and he placed several humid kisses along Will’s cleft as he moved to rest his own cheek against one of Will’s. Finally allowed a moment to collect himself enough to form words, Will said, “When you invited me over for dinner, you didn’t tell me that I would be dessert.”

“I am never inclined to reveal every course beforehand, when I prepare meals for my guests.” Hannibal stayed close enough that he was still breathing on Will’s hole, letting his lips brush against the skin as he spoke, so even though he’d stopped, he hadn’t really. “Has anyone ever done this to you before?”

“No, I don’t think I…got close enough to anyone for it to be on the menu. It’s not really a first date activity, is it?”

“Would you consider this our first date?”

Will reflected carefully on the question before replying, “In retrospect, I feel like we’ve been on our first date for about six weeks now.”

Hannibal chuckled softly, and returned to his task. For variety, he made occasional forays down to Will’s balls, nudging them around in their sack, lipping at the loose skin there. After several more minutes, it was obvious that Will had been painstakingly reduced to a shivering heap of nerves, full to the brim with pleasure and unable to process any more of what was being done to him, so Hannibal decided to have mercy on him, and laid out a line of kisses up his cleft and across his spine as he slowly climbed back up the bed. He pressed his chest to Will’s back and buried his nose in the nape of Will’s neck, and took a few deep breaths, to calm both himself and Will. When Will’s trembling had subsided somewhat, Hannibal announced, “Mmm, you’ve finally sweated away that abominable aftershave. Lovely. Now, are you ready for something to go inside?”

Will buried his face in the pillow before confessing loudly, “Yes. Oh God, yeah, I’m ready for that.”

Hannibal stretched one arm out to reach the bedside table, and pulled at the handle of the drawer with one finger. From inside, he picked up a bottle of lube, placed it on the mattress beside him, and carefully put the drawer back in order before proceeding.

Behind him, Will heard the bottle’s pump working, then felt one firm hand spreading his cheeks again. The first finger slid in embarrassingly easy after Hannibal’s earlier attentions. A swift clockwise turn made Will gasp in surprise. A second finger was introduced fairly quickly, but after that, Hannibal gave him a working-over so slow and lush one would think he was getting paid by the hour to do it.

But no matter how long he went on, Will continued to yelp in astonishment. To have something up there was a familiar feeling, but now it was being administered at unexpected intervals – Hannibal would linger deeply inside, then retreat for a short while, leisurely rubbing at Will’s inner walls before suddenly pressing up to the last knuckle and giving his sweet spot a hard massage.

“When you use your toys,” Hannibal explained, “you always know precisely where the pressure will be directed and how it will feel. How boring that must be, to never have anything unexpected happen to you.”

“Maybe I don’t like surprises,” Will managed to grunt.

“If I were to suddenly get up and walk away right now, I do doubt that you would like that surprise. Beyond that, I’m not so sure.”

Will clawed at the sheets as Hannibal’s dexterous fingers pressed against every pleasurable spot inside him. Sometimes the wetness and friction produced magnificently vulgar and undignified noises, though no more undignified than the ones Will was making.

“God, how do you make it feel so good?” Will squeaked pathetically, because he had to know, right then, before he spiraled completely out of control.

“It is neither difficult nor complicated,” Hannibal replied, with just a hint of smug satisfaction. “It was simply a matter of you finally encountering someone who could get close enough to you to understand that you need a specific kind of sexual attention, and who cared for you enough to deliver it. Your prostate is in excellent condition, by the way.”

“ _Ah_ , thank you…?”

“Using a toy does have its benefits,” Hannibal conceded.

“I’ve never – _hah_ – felt this good for this long and not come.”

“Hm. And I haven’t even begun setting about proving to you what I had primarily intended to prove to you.”

“Which is?”

“How a real penis, attached to a real person, can feel as good as one of your toys. Now I’d like you to turn over. I want to see your face while I have you.”

Will did as Hannibal asked, although doing so made him feel even more vulnerable than he had when his ass was in the air and Hannibal was working two fingers up inside him. Perhaps it was Hannibal’s admiring gaze, which drank in every inch of his pale, damp skin, stained rosy from cheekbones to breastbone with sex-flush. Or it might have been the unobstructed view he now had of Hannibal’s impressive erection, which still seemed colossal, though he knew his hole was slick and relaxed for it.

Hannibal pumped the lube bottle into his palm four times before preparing his cock. Will could hardly bear the sight, and closed his eyes instead, but Hannibal was insistent: “Don’t look away, Will. I want you to watch while I do this.”

Will opened his eyes to see Hannibal sliding his palms up the backs of Will’s thighs, nudging his legs up into the air so that his knees were directly over his hips. When Hannibal leaned forward, he pushed Will’s thighs even closer to his chest, and Will’s hamstrings ached from the stretch. He spread them wider to go around Hannibal’s waist instead, and Hannibal seemed to accept this. He nudged and nuzzled at Will’s open hole with the blunt head of his cock before finally pushing to the hilt in one slow, smooth thrust. “Oh, Will,” he whispered, drawing out the vowels. “Your body is very greedy. I can feel it pulling me in.”

Already Will felt like his whole body was on fire, but Hannibal’s words proved to him that he could still feel himself blush. “Oh,” was all he said in reply.

“Does it feel good to you? Because you feel exquisite to me.”

Something about Hannibal’s adoration put fresh thrills in his belly. Will tried to encourage him to elaborate, by breathing, “Yeah?”

“I’m surrounded by you. You’re so warm. I can feel your every movement, inside and out, all around me. And when you wrap your arms and legs around me, it makes me believe that you really want me inside you.”

“I do,” Will said, closing his arms and thighs even more tightly against Hannibal. “I do want it.” Hannibal had been absolutely right before: when Will was playing by himself, he could use his toys to do exactly what he wanted to himself, and his gratification never had to be delayed. But being fucked by Hannibal was unimaginably superior, even though he had to work for it. In fact, the working for it made it so gratifying: rolling his hips to get just the right angle, grunting with the effort, and then being rewarded by heavenly strikes against his prostate, so sweet that he moaned and cursed with it.

Just as Will was ready to lose himself entirely in this ecstasy, he began to feel that the lube was getting sticky. To his past lovers, this meant that it was time to redouble their efforts, to hurry up and come before the friction made things uncomfortable for themselves as well. But Hannibal instead stopped what he was doing, which Will imagined must have required monumental self-control, and sat up, making it obvious all the while that he was reluctant to reduce his physical contact with Will. He slowly pulled almost all the way out, and drizzled more lube onto his cock before little by little putting it back inside. He was not nearly done with Will yet.

Will felt the difference immediately. It was nice and slippery again, and his eagerness was renewed. What a wonderful new feeling, to want to go on and on like this forever, to _not_ wish to just have it be done with because it had begun in a lackluster fashion and was continuing the same way.

But Will’s amazement went beyond these physical sensations. What was most astonishing was when he realized that Hannibal was moving _with_ him, was reading his signals and working with Will’s body to pleasure him. They were not two people thoughtlessly using each other’s bodies to masturbate with. They gave and received pleasure in concert, until Will could not help but feel that they were one being who happened to be composed of two harmonious and inseparable entities.

All these new feelings were starting to catch up with him, and Will’s throat tightened with the realization that he had never in all his life felt so good, never been handled like this, so loved and cherished and prized. Something stirred inside him, something more confusing and turbulent than all the butterflies and all the lightning strikes of pleasure.

Hannibal could feel Will’s diaphragm seize beneath his own belly, could see Will’s lower lip wobbling. “What’s wrong?” He received no reply. “Will? What is the matter?”

Will cursed Hannibal silently. That was the worst thing you could do to someone who was trying to hold back their emotions, to ask them that question so tenderly. Will’s lips curled, and he fought hard to blink back tears.

Hannibal asked firmly, “Do you want to stop?”

Will grimaced, but shook his head.

“It’s alright. Don’t struggle against it. Just let yourself feel it.”

Hannibal began to press harder into Will’s body, as if he intended to fuck the sobs right out of him. Will immediately began to wail as hot salty tears spilled down the sides of his face. Hannibal gazed in open-mouthed adoration at the outpouring, at the weeping, at the wetness gathered in Will’s clumped lashes. He twisted to one side, then the other, so that he could kiss the tears away as they coursed down Will’s cheeks; more than once Will swore he felt the tip of Hannibal’s tongue scooping them up.

Hannibal had already been reveling in the feeling of the slender form beneath him as it twisted to receive deeper, sweeter strokes, only to realize it was too much, and then quiver and clench for being overwhelmed with voluptuous pleasure. Now he could also enjoy Will’s body being wracked with visceral sobs, his breath hitching whenever a fresh bout of tears came on. Will was in a frenzy now, shaking uncontrollably and crying while Hannibal continued to service him. “I’m sorry,” he sniffled. “Please keep fucking me, it’s so good.”

Hannibal adjusted his position, tucked his knees up a little further, so that there was a gap between their bellies. Now that he was no longer pressing Will’s cock between them, Will instinctively reached for it. “Yes, touch yourself,” Hannibal said. “I think you want to come now.”

“God, it’s so good,” Will cried as he pulled at himself. “You’re so good to me…”

He looked into Hannibal’s eyes, finally made deep, lingering eye contact, and said it again, “You’re so good to me, I…” Words failed him as Hannibal’s gaze sent electric jolts down his limbs, and the heat coiling in the core of him told him that his orgasm was going to turn him inside out.

“Breathe deeply,” Hannibal ordered. “Can you do that? Deep breaths. It will make it last longer.”

Will’s toys, with all their myriad functions, could not prepare him for how deeply he felt this orgasm inside him. He tried to breathe the way Hannibal told him to, but when he began to ejaculate, his exhale became a scream. Fresh tears erupted as he coaxed a thick load out of his cock. His body was incandescent with pleasure, his system flooded with every positive neurotransmitter, serotonin, dopamine, and oxytocin, bestowing indescribable ecstasy and serenity upon him. He cried silently now, screamed-out and exhausted as he was. His body relaxed against the mattress and he let the tears stream out and stain the pillow as his head lolled to one side.

Every few seconds, his whole body seized with orgasmic aftershocks, some of which were provoked by Hannibal’s refusal to cease his thrusting. Hannibal wrapped one arm under Will’s neck and around his shoulders, then planted his other hand on the mattress, propping himself up and giving himself enough leverage to rock against Will. He rubbed their chests and bellies together, shoving and pressing as though he needed to use Will’s whole body in order to come. He grunted thickly several times before he pushed up deep and stilled, and let loose one final profound groan whilst he finally spilled, perfectly motionless save for the twitching of his cock, which Will could feel deep inside.

Hannibal was far too well-mannered to simply collapse, sated, on top of Will, but he did nestle down with a deep, rumbling sigh, spreading his elbows and redistributing his weight somewhat as he nuzzled into Will’s neck and breathed in the smell of him. He made no move to pull out, just waited until he softened enough that Will’s smoldering body relinquished him. Then, with a fond kiss to Will’s jaw, he raised himself up, saying, “Wait right here. I shall return promptly.” He walked slowly but steadily to the bathroom, and Will heard the faucet running.

When Hannibal came back into the room, he paused just inside the doorway, closed his eyes, and inhaled the smell of fucking that had filled the room. It was much stronger to him now that he’d been out of the room and come back, and it put a supercilious smile on his face.

He was carrying a damp washcloth and a glass of water, which he handed to Will first. Will gulped it down in its entirety, unaware until that moment how thirsty he’d become, and how badly his throat wanted soothing. Hannibal sat at the edge of the bed and stroked Will’s sweat-damp thigh, intently watching him drink. When the glass was empty, he took it from Will and set it on the bedside table. Then he used the washcloth to wipe away the streaks of semen smeared across Will’s belly. He asked Will to turn over, and spread Will’s cheeks one last time, to gently clean away the mess that had been made of him.

Will groaned into the pillow, mortified at what was being done. To be fucked was one thing, but to be cleaned so intimately was just embarrassing. Hannibal performed the task with care, but did not acknowledge that he was doing it at all, instead remarking conversationally, “You are certainly responding to my treatment. You will sleep well tonight, I think.” And Will had to agree; he couldn’t remember ever feeling so deliciously sleepy, having been so wonderfully stuffed full and emptied out.

Hannibal stood up again and placed the washcloth in the hamper. “We can have a shower in the morning. I’d like to sleep next to you while you’re smelling like you are.” Rather than walk around to his side of the bed, he just climbed over Will and collapsed at his side. Will rolled to face Hannibal, but was unable to look directly at him, with eyes still red from his hard, prolonged cry. “I don’t know how you could not be put off by what I did,” he croaked, his throat sore from screaming.

“On the contrary, I find it beautiful that you are so expressive.” Hannibal ran an affectionate hand up and down Will’s still-damp flank, giving him a playful squeeze wherever he felt there was enough flesh to squeeze effectively. “We all feel more keenly that which we are not accustomed to. It does not make me uncomfortable that you cried. But if it makes you uncomfortable, perhaps it will console you to know that in time, this sort of gratification will become more routine, and have a less drastic effect on you.”

“Does that mean we’re going to keep doing this? Often?”

“I don’t see why not. Unless I am mistaken, and you only came here to help me put a notch in my bedpost, in which case you must be disappointed, as my bed has none.”

“I am a little disappointed, actually. I thought you’d have one of those big four-posters, with a canopy, velvet curtains, the whole works.”

Hannibal lifted an eyebrow. “There’s one in the guest room,” he suggested.

Will pictured himself kneeling on such a bed, clinging to a post at the foot of it while Hannibal took him from behind, having just finished eating him out for several minutes or more. When he opened his eyes, Hannibal had a look on his face that suggested he was picturing the same thing.

“Would that be good for my serotonin production?” Will asked.

“I can’t think of anything better for it,” Hannibal replied matter-of-factly. “Except perhaps if it were preceded by a good meal.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like what I do, you should follow berlynn-wohl on Tumblr.
> 
> Also, I just want to make sure that everyone is clear that I am totally fine with people doing any of the following things:
> 
> 1\. Drawing art based on my fic  
> 2\. Recording podfics of my fic  
> 3\. Citing my fics in your master's thesis  
> 4\. Including my fic on any gold-plated audio-visual discs that are being sent into space on a probe  
> 5\. Carving excerpts of my fics into the surface of the moon with a laser  
> 6\. Identifying my fics as the cause of your descent into supervillainy
> 
> kthx


End file.
